


Harry Potter and the Year the Wizarding World Learned of The-Boy-Who-Lived's Past

by InvisbleDragon



Series: Dark Truths [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Harry, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Dead Harry, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description of Injuries, Hurt Harry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Illness, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Serious Injuries, Strong Language, Take the Internet away from me, Why was I ever given Internet?, can injuries be classified as illness?, graphic violance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6325672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvisbleDragon/pseuds/InvisbleDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter was having an admittedly not horrible summer vacation, when a house-elf visited him and caused that to go to shit. That evening he was visited by his best friend, and two of his brothers in an attempt to rescue him from his relatives. But...<br/>What if they failed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Escape Attempt

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks goes to my friends in the chatroom, they all know who they are, and I have to say while I normally am abysmal at updating, I have no doubt that they will keep badgering me for more updates and chapters, so I guess I have an alarm system to keep me writing.  
> Anything you recognize is from our Queen, parts of this fanfiction will come directly from her stories.  
> I own nothing, except for a shitty laptop and an avid imagination.
> 
> I have a [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/invisbledragon), come badger me there.  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little idea I had.

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped.

　　"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it .... Slipped your mind, I daresay .....

　　He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy ... I'm locking you up... You're never going back to that school... Never! ...and if you try and magic yourself out - they'll expel you!"

　　And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs by his hair.

　　Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on Harry's window. He himself fitted a cat-flap in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. They let Harry out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, he was locked in his room around the clock.

　　Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and Harry couldn't see any way out of his situation. He lay on his bed watching the sun sinking behind the bars on the window and wondered miserably what was going to happen to him.

　　What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if Hogwarts would expel him for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren't going to wake up as fruit bats, he had lost his only weapon. Dobby might have saved Harry from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were going, he'd probably starve to death anyway.

　　The cat-flap rattled and Aunt Petunias’ hand appeared, pushing a bowl of canned soup into the room. Harry, whose insides were aching with hunger, jumped off his bed and seized it. The soup was stone-cold, but he drank half of it in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig's cage and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of deep disgust.

　　"It's no good turning your beak up at it - that's all we've got," said Harry grimly.

　　He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay back down on the bed, somehow even hungrier than he had been before the soup.

　　Supposing he was still alive in another four weeks, two days, fourteen hours, and thirty-three minutes, what would happen if he didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why he hadn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let him go?

　　The room was growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.

　　He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading UNDERAGE WIZARD attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He saw Dobby's face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby called, "Harry Potter is safe there, sir!" and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at him.

　　"Stop it," Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his sore and aching head from Uncle Vernon hitting him ‘round when installing the cat-flap. "Leave me alone... cut it out... I'm trying to sleep..."

　　He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the window. And someone was goggling through the bars at him: a freckle- faced, red-haired, long-nosed (with a smudge of ever present dirt on the side) someone.

　　Ron Weasley was outside Harry's window.

　"Ron. I-" breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you- What the-?"

　　Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in midair. Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers.

　　"All right, Harry?" asked George.

　　"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles-"

　　"It wasn't me- and how did he know?"

　　"He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school-"

　　"You should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car.

　　"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with-"

　　"I told you, I didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursley’s have locked me up and won't let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the Ministry'Il think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so-"

　　"Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you home with us."

　　"But you can't magic me out either-"

　　"We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me."

　　"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Harry.

　　"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry as he tied the rope tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

　　"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."

　　Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys' bedroom.

　　When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to Harry's window.

　　"Get in," Ron said.

　　"But all my Hogwarts stuff- my wand- my broomstick-"

　　"Where is it?"

　　 "Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room-"

　　"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry."

　　Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into Harry's room. You had to hand it to them, thought Harry, as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

　　"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."

　　There was a small click and the door swung open.

　　"So- we'll get your trunk- you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.

　　"Watch out for the bottom stair- it creaks," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

　　Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough.

　　At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.

　　Uncle Vernon coughed again.

　　"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good pus -"

　　Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car.

　　"Okay, let's go," George whispered.

　　But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of Uncle Vernon's voice.

　　"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

　　"I've forgotten Hedwig!"

　　Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on- he snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door and it crashed open.

　　For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.

　　Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as they could.

　　"Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"

　　But the Weasley’s gave a great effort and they would’ve saved Harry, had Vernon not squeezed harder on Harry’s ankle pushing on the fragile bones. Harry gasped, and his grip failed him. In one last effort he rescinded from the Weasley’s grasp and slammed the door shut. “Harry, mate! What’re you doing?”

　　"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Harry, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.

　　Harry couldn't believe it, they’d listened to him. Now Hedwig was safe, and he was here with Uncle Vernon, who was angrier than ever before. He couldn’t be sure if he was supposed to be happy or sad about that.

Uncle Vernon, pulled Harry into his room, and before anything else happened, Dudley had punched him in the stomach. “That’s for waking me up you freak.”

Aunt Petunia sniffed, and laid her hand on Uncle Vernon’s arm, “We can deal with him in the morning, but right now dearie, we should get to bed. Poor Dudders needs his sleep.”

“You’re right Pet, but what will we do with him while we sleep tonight?” Uncle Vernon’s face lost it’s oatmeal like complexion as he grinned nastily at Harry. “You know what, boy? I think we’ve been too kind to you. We give you good clothes, we give you good food, we even give you your own room, and this is how you repay our gentle kindness? No, things are going to change, but for right now, it’s back to the cupboard with you.”

Harry gulped in fear, while the cupboard wasn’t so bad, he hadn’t grown much in the last year, after all, but it was the look in Uncle Vernon’s eye that promised great pain to him in the morning.

And so it was that five minutes later Harry found himself squashed into his old cupboard and the door locked shut to await the hours until when he would be dealt his hand from Uncle Vernon.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have ideas, but don't or cant write them, send it my way here on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/invisbledragon) and I'll see what I can do.


	2. Hedwig's Introduction to the Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hedwig has her freedom from Number 4 Privet Drive and is introduced to The Burrow, the home of her owner's best fried, Ron Weasley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I can't believe it this popular. Thank you so much for all your love! And I have to say, special thanks goes to cherry for this chapter. You know who you are, so just... Thank you, again.  
> If you want to make me even happier, you could come and find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/invisbledragon).

　　"We’ll be back and rescue you soon, Harry!" Ron yelled. 

　　The Weasley twins nodded in unison and Ron settled back in his seat, pocking at the padlock on Hedwig’s cage.

　　"Let Hedwig out," Fred told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She probably hasn't had a chance to stretch her wings in ages."

　　George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.

　　"So- I wonder what the story is with Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?"

　　There was a long, shocked silence while Fred and George thought it over.

　　"Very fishy," said Fred finally.

　　"Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So what we have to do is get Harry out and then get him to tell the story.” 

　　"I don't think it’ll be easy," said Ron. "I’ll tell you, every time that fatso got close to letting Harry slip, he started grabbing harder."

　　Ron saw Fred and George look at each other.

　　"What, you think he wasn’t trying to get loose?" said Ron.

　　"Well," said Fred, "put it this way- Harry is a very thin fellow. Probably someone's idea of a joke. I mean, he is THE Boy-Who-Lived, can't think of anyone other than Death Eaters who'd really want to hurt him, and they can't find him at his family's house. Can you think of anyone with a grudge against him? Someone who could cast a spell to keep him from gaining weight?"

　　"Yes," said Ron instantly.

　　"Draco Malfoy," Ron explained. "He hates Harry."

　　"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

　　"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Ron.

 

　　"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who."

　　"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning around to look at Ron, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it. Load of dung- Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle."

　　Ron had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made anybody look like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive person.

　　"I don't know.” Said Ron, “Harry seemed pretty desperate to get free from his relatives. I reckon it might’ve been pretty bad, especially the way he was trying to make sure Hedwig would be free. Maybe they were trying to hurt her?”

　　"Well, Harry owns her, and Wizarding Law states that a wizard will be given due recompense for injuries against their familiar." said Fred.

　　"Yeah, but they’re not wizards. They’re Muggles.” George made a good point.

　　Ron was silent. Judging by the fact that Harry had seemed thinner than usual, and pretty desperate, he wasn’t going to pin it on Malfoy, even if it was Malfoy. 

　　"I'm glad we came, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting really worried when Harry didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it was Errol's fault at first, but now we can know it’s because his relatives had him locked up and Hedwig too. They probably took his letters and burned them."

“You're driving too far west, Fred," George reasoned, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred twiddled the steering wheel.

　　"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes... Just as well, it's getting light…"

　　A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.

　　Fred brought the car lower, and Ron saw the dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

　　Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

　　"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground. They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and Ron looked out for the first time since leaving to rescue Harry.

　　"It's not much," said Ron. “But I was hoping to show Harry.”

　　They got out of the car.

　　"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast. Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, ‘I’m starving Mum, can I have extra rashers?’ And then you sneak some into your pants to give to Hedwig later on.”

　　"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Hedwig, I sleep at the- at the top.” Hedwig landed softly atop Ron’s head.

　　Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The other two wheeled around.

　　Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

　　"Ah, "said Fred.

　　"Oh, dear," said George.

　　Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

　　"So, "she said.

　　"Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

　　"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper.

　　"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to -"

　　All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

　　"Beds empty! No note! Car gone- could have crashed- out of my mind with worry- did you care? -never, as long as I've lived- you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy-"

　　"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

　　"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job-"

　　It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Hedwig, who hooted miserably. She had, after all been flying all night on an empty stomach.

　　"I'm very pleased to see you, Hedwig, dear," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast."

　　She turned and walked back into the house and Hedwig, after a nervous preen through her feathers, followed her flying low.

　　 The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Hedwig perched on the edge of a seat, looking around. She had never been in a wizard house before, Hogwarts and the Owlelry not-with-standing.

　　The clock on the wall opposite her had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens, and You're late. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles she didn’t care about. And unless Hedwig's ears were deceiving her, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."

　　Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."

　　"I don't blame you, dear," she assured Hedwig, tipping eight or nine sausages onto a plate for her. "Arthur and I have been worried about Harry. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get Harry ourselves if he hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really, flying an illegal car halfway across the country - anyone could have seen you- And anyway! If you went to go get Harry, why wouldn’t you bring him with, instead of just bringing his owl and his belongings?"

　　She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

　　"It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred.

　　"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

　　"They were starving him, Mum!" said George.

　　"And you!" said Mrs. Weasley. 

“We did go to rescue him, we really did. But his uncle-” Ron protested.

“Obviously must not have taken kindly to strangers kidnapping his nephew in the middle of the night. Now family knows best, so Harry dear, will be spending the rest of the summer with his family, and YOU THREE-!”

~*~…one garden de-gnoming later…~*~

　　Just then, the front door slammed.

　　"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"

　　They hurried through the garden and back into the house.

　　Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

　　"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned...

　　Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

　　"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.

　　"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness...

　　"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.

　　"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face... But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe-"

　　"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

　　Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

　　"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

　　"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly."

　　Mr. Weasley blinked.

　　"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if- er- he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth... There's a loophole in the law, you'll find... As long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't-"

　　"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Hedwig arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

　　"Hedwig?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. “Hedwig who?"

　　He looked around, saw Hedwig, and jumped.

　　"Good lord, is it an owl? Very beautiful owl, isn’t she?”

　　"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night." shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

　　"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I- I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that- that was very wrong, boys- very wrong indeed...

　　"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to the twins as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll bring Hedwig to my bedroom."

　　They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Hedwig just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring out before it closed with a snap.

　　They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM.

　　Hedwig fluttered in, her wings almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling.

　　Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, making a pleasant little perch for Hedwig to settle upon, and tuck her head under her wing and sleep, which she promptly set herself to do.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys SO FREAKING MUCH for all the subscriptions and kudos. I'm flabbergasted that you guys like it so much, I've never had a work be so popular before. Any way, I hope that you liked the second chapter, and you can see chapter three next week- this is where the tags come in, so be forewarned: VIOLANCE AHEAD... poor Harry.


	3. Harry Goes Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns just what his punishment is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why there are those tags. This chapter is horrible, and please don't read if you are triggered by anything of the tags.  
> In other news, I am a horrible person for doing this to a poor defenseless Harry...  
> Read at your own risk.  
> I want to thank Stef for helping me with this, and I'd like to apologize again for winding up having your acknowledgement be on literally maybe the most violent chapter of this story.

It was a painful evening for Harry. After a restless night trying to find comfort in the thin scrap of fabric that was a pitiful excuse of a summer scarf, let alone a blanket, he dropped into a fitful sleep two hours before dawn. It was ten minutes after dawn that August 1, 1992, that began the worst month of Harry’s life.

Aunt Petunia, the slight weight that she was did not make any noise on the crooked boards that screamed in pain every time Uncle Vernon or Dudley ascended or descended, therefore earning himself the first pain of the day. Upon opening the door and finding her sleeping nephew, Petunia Dursley nee Evens, kicked a sleeping Harry Potter in the ribs, and pulling him out of the cupboard by his ear.

Having being weaned off his pain tolerance of a year of no punishments the kick caused a flame of pain shoot up his side and shock him into consciousness, only to find himself being dragged out of his bedroom into the hallway by his ear.

“Into the kitchen freak! A full English breakfast, and don’t skimp on the rashers or bangers. My precious Dudders needs his energy to recover from that dreadful school, and Vernon dear needs his energy to show you exactly who is in charge here! Now don’t you dare burn anything freak!”

“Yes Aunt Petunia.” Harry said dully, he had a feeling that there would be no food for him today and that it would be a dreadful day full of chores and pain.

The loud groan of the stairs made Harry frantic to flip the tomatoes and eggs, and hope that it would be done by the time Uncle Vernon reached the bottom. Unfortunately, even with the difficulty of navigating downwards through the stairs Uncle Vernon made it to the table before the food did. So when Harry set a dense plate of food down in front of his uncle, he fell to the floor by the heavy swing aimed at his temple.

“Freak! I EXPECT BREAKFAST TO BE READY FOR ME IN THE MORNINGS!” Vernon Dursley bellowed at his unconscious nephew.

He huffed in disgust and began to dig into his breakfast while planning out what his plan for his nephew would be. Obviously, he would have to beat the manners into him, along with increasing the chores list, and taking away food to make sure the lesson would stick. It was a sadistic gleam in his eye that Harry would awaken to find, obviously his Uncle had plans for him and Harry, shuddered to find out. He was given a task to scrub the kitchen clean in the next thirty minutes while Uncle Vernon detailed his plan to his wife and son. Harry didn’t try to listen in at all. He wasn’t scared to find out what would be in store for him. He was undoubtedly terrified.

Aunt Petunia scooted out the door with Dudley, leaving Harry at the tender mercy of his Uncle Vernon. Harry gulped in fear before his Uncle Vernon smiled and gestured to Harry, “Now listen here boy, you have much to learn about your place in life. I’ll make it simple, you worthless freak, your place in life is to serve us and keep your damned mouth shut. You will not speak to us for you are beneath us. You will comply with our wishes at the moment we give them to you. You are worth nothing and most important of all, you will never, EVER return to that freak school of yours. You will never go to school again at all for that point.”

Harry burned in anger, and as he opened his mouth to tell his uncle off, he received a slap across his face, sending his glasses skittering across the living room. Harry stumbled, and managed to catch himself with his hands braced against the floor.

A shadow loomed above him, and a blurry fist smashed into his nose, sending a bolt of lightning pain across the small boy’s face. Harry blinked furiously trying to keep tears from falling. He succeeded, although rather unfortunately, blood from a nose does not follow the same bodily guidelines.

A kick into his stomach caused the boy to crumple completely to the ground, curled into the fetal position. “Listen here boy, you will stay silent and listen to our orders. You will never speak another word, even if I have to cut out your tongue. You will do your chores and maybe if you’re lucky we will give you bread to eat. Now before your Aunt Petunia comes back home from shopping with Dudley you will clean up this blood.

It was a woozy Harry that crawled across the floor searching with blurry vision for his eyeglasses, as little as they did to correct his vision, they at least did something to help. Obviously his uncle did not want him to speak, so Harry would remain silent until Ron and Fred and George returned with their parents and rescued him from the Dursley’s. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long, because he didn’t know just how long he could take this.

“Where are you going boy? The cleaning supplies are in the shed outside.” Uncle Vernon sneered at him. While Harry peered at the floor in search of his spectacles, he debated between risking punishment for talking or remaining silent and continuing his search. His decision was taken from him when his hand nudged against a familiar shape and his hand grasped the frame, only to have them be snatched from his fingers by the pudgy hand of Uncle Vernon.

“You think you deserve these, you freak? No.” Vernon Dursley pushed his thumbs against the lenses and popped them out of their place in the frames, then deciding that was not enough he tore the earpieces off and bent the bridge in a manner that meant that Harry would never be able to reset the lenses into the frame even if he would be able to find them in whatever trash heap Uncle Vernon threw them into.

Harry sighed and cautiously attempted to make his way to his feet, knees unstable underneath him from the strikes to his head. “Now get to cleaning your filthy blood off my nice carpet, and a warning to you boy- if there’s a drop or a stain left by the time your aunt or cousin return, then you’ll face a punishment like never before.”

Harry had no doubt that pain was in his imminent future and that he would be feeling a lot of it. He really wished that the Weasley’s would hurry up and get him out of here. After all, clearly Ron had written to him, and it was only because Dobby kept stealing his letters that he didn’t get any. He had friends. Headmaster Dumbledore had promised that Harry would be able to come back the next year, he had said that he’d see him the next year. Surely he wasn’t such a freak in the Wizarding World too? Surely no one had heard of the Dursley’s in the Magical Community. 

There thoughts tormented Harry all the way through scrubbing the carpet with stain remover to clean the dirt of his blood out of the fibers that had soaked it up. An endless repeating mantra of PleasepleasepleasePleasepleasepleasePleasepleaseplease.  
It was the sound of the car returning and parking in the drive (the squeaking of the car shocks under the rear wheels from Dudley exiting the car) that pulled Harry from his worrisome thoughts, to find what appeared to be clean carpeting and red knuckles from the force of scrubbing away at the carpet with the rag he was using.

“Get moving then, boy. Put that away and go help your Aunt carry in the bags.” Uncle Vernon snarled at him, flipping the channels on the telly.

Harry gave a small nod and then scurried to return the cleaning products to the shed in the backyard before rushing to grab the bags from the trunk of the car, however those plans were derailed by a smirking Dudley who stuck out his leg and tripped Harry.

Having no proper vision, or even relatively shitty glasses clearing his vision up a bit, Harry was unable to his cousin’s leg and thereby stumbled over it, teetering headfirst into the edge of the open trunk lid. The dull corner of the trunk made a rather blunt force which wound up gouging into Harry’s right eye. The pain was extreme, and his vision was a blur of red blood, oozing sluggishly out of his damaged eye.

Harry howled and reared back, hands clasped over his eye, tears stinging furiously inside his eye. He dropped to his knees and shook in pain, unconsciousness blurring his mind and scrambling his thought process beyond PAINPAINPAINPAINPAIN.

It was barely a flicker of awareness that caused Harry to feel himself being forcibly handled and shoved under the cupboard. He was too close and he tipped over the edge into the looming darkness.

He felt nothing for the next couple of days, not feeling the weight of the disdainful glares upon his Uncle’s or his Aunt’s or his cousin’s haughty faces, or the ever slightly more worrisome looks upon his cousin’s face. 

It was the eleventh time that someone peeked into his cupboard to see if he was still breathing and not dead that they noticed the twitching of his eyes as the light in the hallway fell on his face that he felt he was drifting through a cloud of pain. The closer he came to waking up, the more he began to whimper, the pain of his eye a fresh burn in his nerves.

Clearly whatever had happened that caused his ….however long he was sleeping for… had done drastic damage to his face. If only he could remember what it was and why his face hurt so much!

“Harry, Harry, get up! Mum’s coming, and Dad too. Please Harry get up!” hissed a familiar voice. It was strange, thought Harry, it sounded a lot like Dudley. Harry blinked, or well rather tried to, his left eye opened normally and he was able to see, while his right eye cracked open maybe a centimeter before pain lanced across his face. Clearly for some reason, whatever it was that caused his sleep had caused his eye to be glued shut with dry blood. 

With what unfocused vision his brain could see from his left eye, his uncle lumbered up behind Dudley and scowled down at Harry. “Now listen here freak! You don’t get to skive off your chores and sleep for four days! So you better get your fucking arse out here and clean the kitchen! Your aunt has been running herself ragged, while you’ve been having peaceful dreams!”

A skinny brown blur dropped a white cloth on him, sniffed and turned to leave. Meanwhile the blue blob, shifted and whispered out “I’m really sorry Harry. I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad, I swear.”

Something was held out to him, and with all the concentration he could muster (Harry had a really bad headache, he could barely focus on anything specific) the blur became a little more clear and formed into a fuzzy hand. Was Dudley trying to help him up?

Harry almost waved the offer aside, whatever caused this pain, clearly Dudley felt some guilt for it, but when he lifted his head, and Harry’s vision swam and he had to choke down the urge to vomit (vomit what? He hadn’t gotten any breakfast, and what had Uncle Vernon said? Four days?!), Harry reconsidered declining the help.

And so it was that on an August afternoon in 1992, that Dudley Dursley helped Harry Potter for the first time ever. A shallow cough told Harry all he needed to know, that he would need water and that his voice would be raspy when he talked to Dudley, but; “Hey Dudley? What day is it?”

It was a nervous Dudley that answered, “The seventh.” Harry gaped in shock. THE SEVENTH! It’s been… his head hurt… a…. week? Since the…. Weasley’s had come and attempted to rescue him. Had no one come since then? Harry opened his mouth the ask Dudley, when a shout from the living room caused him to scurry into the kitchen as fast he could.

Granted, he was holding onto the wall for balance, but he needed the support. Harry had no doubt that he had a concussion, although why his eye was stuck shut was confusing. So he made his way into the kitchen. And the mess that was stacked in the sink, and the crumbs littering the floor were horrible. Harry followed the wall to the counter and then followed the counter to the sink, where he had to dig under three saucepans, two pots, one kettle, a gigantic stack of plates so high he didn’t even know where they go them all, and a litany of silverware in order to find the scrub brush. 

It was exhausting work, and Harry swayed to the verge of passing out now and again, but it required little concentration, just mechanical movements, which allowed Harry to attempt and take a mental stock of his injuries, while he was wiping everything down. He got as far as: concussion, face-eye something, ribs, stomach, ankle, and elbow.

Unfortunately as he was sweeping up the last of the crumbs off the floor, Uncle Vernon came in the kitchen to investigate his cleaning skills.

“Boy, it has been decided that you will no longer receive any more of Dudley’s clothes, those that you are wearing will be your only ones. Petunia has taken care of your other ones. You will wear these lovely accessories that she picked up for you and you will do so without question.

Uncle Vernon handed over a shopping bag. Harry peeked inside, and felt humiliated. Inside the paper bag was a jumble of thick leather and chains. One such piece of leather was lying right on top, and Harry carefully pulled it out by one end. What was in his hand wound up being a dog collar, just barely large enough to fit around his neck, with a heavy metal ring in the front. Harry blanched in angry humiliation, but before he could protest, it disappeared out of his hand and was wound against his neck. The leather felt cold to his hot skin, and as he felt it draw closed and lock, he felt himself choke. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Tears fell fast and heavy, hot things burning from his left eye, a painful stinging in his right. 

The bag dropped to the floor as he lifted his shaking hands to the collar around his neck and tugged at it. There was an aching numbness inside of him as he swallowed bile, trying to feel something other than what it was. A chain, a sign that he would never be anything more than a puppet for the Dursely’s. It was when his hand was taken from his new collar, that he realized that there was something more going on.

While he had been zoned, out and crying, his uncle had been taking gentle care placing more chains on him. As he snapped out of his mental musings, he stared down at himself in horror, the leather collar around his neck digging into his esophagus. There were four more leather cuffs buckled to him, one per limb, and he could feel the chilled fabric draining him of his energy, and willpower.

On second thought, Harry mused, it could just be the shock of all this happening. After all, when a child finds out that they are magical, and go to a boarding school to learn how to cast magic, only to be attacked in ‘the safest place on Earth’ and have an attempt made on their life by their defense teacher, and be shipped back home ‘for their own well-being’ and now that creature and the warning from the Ministry, and now this! It’s almost as though they’re definitely going to kill me.

At the thought, a chill ran down Harry’s spine, to be followed by a burning sensation on his face. His head spun around, and Harry stared at the wall to his left in a daze. A shaking hand lifted to his face and touched to throbbing area on his cheek where Uncle Vernon had just slapped him.

“-you, freak! You will be sleeping in the shed outside as soon as I have someone come and fix it to hold your freakish rubbish! Now start cleaning the flowerbeds, boy! And I want them done by 4, so that you can make supper for us tonight. And there’ll be no food for you!”

Harry sighed and as he trudged out the kitchen door into the humid summer’s day. It was actually the perfect summer day to stay indoors and crank the air conditioning and sit in front the telly and watch a program, but as his family hated him, he would never be allowed to sit with them. 

In fact, in his many years of living with them the only time he had been allowed to sit with them and watch a program had been when Aunt Marge had been visiting and she had made him be a foot stool for her, while she rested ‘her poor, weary feet, all tired from traveling’ and it had been on the same day that Harry had been told to do the laundry for the very first time and had mistakenly put a red sock into the washer with the white clothes and had been forced to wear his aunt petunia’s white cocktail dress that she had been planning to wear to a work party for Grunnings, but he had ruined it, so she had felt it necessary to punish him and force him to wear the dyed pink cocktail dress for the entire day. It was a very specific day he remembered. It was Wednesday October 31, 1984; also known as the first day he had been severely punished enough to have a broken bone. The dress had been passed off as a costume for a strange little three-year-old boy to wear. 

It was the shadow of his Aunt’s figure on the warm soil in front of him that made Harry wheel around in shock, as he wiped the dripping sweat out of his eyes. A sneer from her pursed mouth, had him scrambling to his feet and explaining his treatments to her prize-winning flowers, as he eyed the turned over potting soil in satisfaction. There was something to working in the earth that grounded him and helped him feel more balanced, even if he was emotionally a wreck when he began with the summer planting of seedlings.

“Okay, the magnolias back here are in good shape, if not a bit untidy row. I’m concerned with the rose bushes in the front under the windows, they’re looking a bit peeked. The judges are coming by in a week and I need them all blooming nicely when the scores are being assimilated. Fix them, or you’ll get another punishment.”

Harry nodded nervously, he couldn’t keep himself from swallowing thickly. Had he been neglecting the roses? They would need to be in bloom when the quartet of judges came by for the inspection. Of course, Harry would never be allowed to put it in as his work, but it would be a lovely announcement if he actually won. The judges normally came by when Uncle Vernon dragged him and Dudley out to get only the best school supplies for Dudley, leaving him with the nubs of pencils and the half-filled notebooks of Dudley’s past year work. 

Since he was more than likely not going to Hogwarts in three weeks, Harry might actually be able to stay hidden and see how the four judges like his work themselves instead of another medal pinned to the brocade backing of the trophy case. Harry hated that trophy case, his Aunt Petunia had asked for it for Christmas, and Uncle Vernon had forced Harry to help him make it. Not to mention the fact that it was filled with liars’ names for accomplishments they hadn’t done. Harry had been the fetcher and the holder. He had held anything and everything, from the torch, to the nails in place to be hammered into the deep mahogany. 

When Harry bent down under the pretense to pick up the worn work gloves, he peeked up through his eyelashes to guess at the hour and see how much he could work on the roses before he had to be at the door to scrub up before making whatever it was that Uncle Vernon planned for supper. As always the burry clock hands floated in his vision tricking his eyes into seeing either 2:37 or 3:27. Harry was tempted to sneak closer, but he had learned that lesson before. Don’t touch the windows. No smudges on anything clean. No contaminants from the freak.

Harry shrugged, if he ventured around to the front of the garden and Uncle Vernon’s car wasn’t there, then he could go feed the roses. If it was there then Harry would begin to scrub up to begin to cook dinner. Harry sighed, nervous, what if someone saw his eye?

He nervously touched the bandanna he had tied over his eye to keep it cleaner of contaminants. The neighbors didn’t really care about that quiet, queer boy living at Number Four, but if even one person asked a question, then punishment would begin again. Better to deal with it sooner rather than later. It was a cautious Harry that leaned his head over the garden fence, he couldn’t see much, but what he could see was a missing car, so Harry decided it was safe for him to go to the front of the garden and water the plants.

Quiet as he could, though he cringed at the jingling of the chainlink of the collar, Harry snuck through the gate and turned on the water spigot to fill the hose with water and hydrate the Queen Anne’s Roses. Once Harry had given the plants enough water, he turned the hose to a parallel angle to himself and began to sip from the stream of water. Not too much, too fast otherwise his empty stomach would cramp up and that was a big mess in-and-of-itself.

Sated for the moment, Harry retracted the hose and turned the spigot to its original position as to put the front yard to rights as quickly as possible. He knew that the time was drawing closer to the moment when he would need to be ready in the kitchen for Uncle Vernon to return from the store as to be able to prepare the food for that evening.

It was the smooth sound of an engine turning and easing into the crunching of gravel that had Harry turning around to face his uncle. As little as he actually wanted to see the man, it was Harry that survived with fewer bruises if he faced the man who was hurting him. Harry wasn’t sure why, but it offered him fewer injuries to heal with magic or to accidental magic hide it.

A heavy hand landing on his thin shoulder and squeezing with a painfully tight grip let Harry know he fucked up. He did something he wasn’t supposed to and now he would get a harsher punishment. Though to the neighbor across the street, the elderly Carl Thompson and his wife Irene Thompson, it looked like the young child had simply been doing some light gardening and watering the roses while wearing another set of strange accessories. Irene brushed it off as ‘a young child a bit touched in the head, always has been after the death of his parents, the poor dearie.’ Carl though frowned in thought, it looked like the nephew was wearing a dog collar around his neck and a large handkerchief around his eye, now he wasn’t the copper he used to be, but something was wrong here. He told himself that if he saw the boy doing some more gardening and the family wasn’t nearby, then he’d call his old partners’ grandson, the current chief and have someone come check it out.

As is, he tipped his glass of lemonade to his lovely wife of sixty-eight years come October, and watched with a shrewd gaze as Vernon Dursley ushered his nephew into grabbing a bag of groceries from the trunk and walking into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TRIED WARNING YOU! BUT YOU READ IT! I'm sorry.  
> I'm so, so sorry.  
> But in my defense, since your reading this, and I warned you at the top, it's totally your own fault...  
> If you want to blame me, you can do so on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/invisbledragon).


	4. Books Galore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Weasley's go to the Alley and Hermione goes to the Library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for this chapter goes again to cherry.  
> You kept me on track and reminded me to write this.

Ronald Bilius Weasley, more commonly known as Ron, was not the brightest lumos, but he knew when there were things people weren’t telling him. And he knew his friends, so when Harry, his best friend desperately tried to escape from his Muggle relatives, but failed in doing so, he knew he had to tell someone so Harry could get out of that house.

So when his mother shut down any attempt at talk of getting Harry from those Muggles, he turned to his father. Rather unfortunately he did so within earshot of his mother, though. 

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY. YOU STOP THIS NONSENSE TALK OF RESCUING HARRY, HIS FAMILY CARES FOR HIM. NOW TAKE THE FLOO POWDER AND GO TO DIAGON ALLEY SO WE CAN GET THE SHOPPING DONE FOR YOUR BOOKS FOR THIS YEAR!”

Ron winced as she finally let go of his ear and held out the pot of floo power. He petulantly rubbed his ear and took a pinch of power, and tossed it into the flames. “Diagon Alley!” He called out confidently, before he was abruptly hurtled through the magic flames before wandering out into the crowded streets of Wizarding shopping street.

He could spot the gleaming marble of the Gringott’s bank at the far end of the Alley, and witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes, colors too as one particular witch seemed unperturbed by her hair cycling through the rainbow as she strode confidently from Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour licking what appeared to be the newest flavor ice lollie.

Ginny was the next to tumble out, right into her brother and sent both of them sprawling on the cobblestones. Fred and George both burst out laughing, but sobered up quickly and help Ginny up when their mother stepped through, followed quickly by their father.

“Did you-” One of the menaces began.

“-see the look,” The twin continued, Ron couldn’t tell who was who.

“-on their faces?” they finished together.

“Come along now, everyone! This way, to Gringott’s.” Their mum strode in the direction of the goblin run bank. In the lobby of the bank, they came across Hermione and her parents trying to exchange Muggle money for Galleons in order to buy the books for this year. 

Ron, Fred, and George pulled Hermione to the side and spoke quietly about what they had seen when they had tried to go rescue Harry from the Dursley’s. Hermione nodded primly to herself, and pointed out that their mother was waving the other three back over to go down to the vault.

Two very crowed cart rides, and five minutes in a neigh empty vault later, they were back outside on the marble steps, in order to separate. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mum and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop. Dad was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

　　"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks," said Mum, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating backs.

　　Ron and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street. The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in Hermione’s pocket was clamoring to be spent, so she bought two small strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they slurped happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged him off to buy ink and parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power. “A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,” Ron read aloud off the back cover. “That sounds fascinating…”

　　"Go away," Percy snapped. “ 'course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned out... He wants to be Minister of Magic…” Ron told Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it. An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner that stretched across the upper windows:

　　GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.

　　"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!"

　　The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harrassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies... Don't push, there... mind the books, now…"

　　Ron and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasley’s were standing with Hermione’s mum and dad.

　　"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute...”

Hermione, absently pulling at her bushy hair and trying to straighten it was excitedly thinking of how many questions she could possibly ask him.

　　Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

　　A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

　　"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet-"

　　"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

　　Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron and then he saw Hermione. He stared. He looked positively horrified at seeing her, most probably at her hair, before the clicking of the camera reminded him where he was.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!” 

　　"The students at Hogwarts will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

　　"Oh, it's you," said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. "Bet you're surprised to see us Hermione here, aren’t you?”

　　"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Malfoy. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."

　　Ron went red as he dropped his books into the Ginny’s cauldron, and started toward Malfoy, but Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

　　"Ron!" said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."

　　"Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley."

　　It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

　　"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

　　"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids ... I hope they're paying you overtime?"

　　He reached into Ginny's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.

　　"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

　　Mr. Weasley flushed darker than Ron. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy," he said quietly in a steel laced voice.

　　"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Hermione’s mum and dad, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley... and I thought your family could sink no lower-'

　　There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!” the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please- please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all

　　"Break it up, there, gents, break it up -"

　　Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

　　"Here, girl- take your book- it's the best your father can give you-" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

　　"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that- no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter- bad blood, that's what it is- come on now- let's get outta here."

　　The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, all three Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.

　　"A fine example to set for your children… brawling in public... what Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought-"

　　"He was pleased," said Fred. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he'd be able to work the fight into his report- said it was all publicity-"

　　But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where the Weasley’s, and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. They said good-bye to the Hermione, Dan, and Emma, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side. Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face. Hermione hugged Ron goodbye and whispered to him to tell his father that she’d write and send an explanation of how it worked. She also whispered that she would do some research on Harry’s family and see what she could do to get him to stay with her for the rest of summer vacation.

Hermione stepped back from Ron as the Weasley’s began to file through the Floo, leaving her and her parents standing in the leaky Cauldron, before heading back into the muggle world.

As her father raised his arm to wave down a taxi, Hermione turned to her mother. “Mum, I’m really worried about Harry. Ron said that he and Fred and George tried to get him from his Aunt’s and Uncle’s place, but that they failed, and they only have Harry’s stuff and Hedwig, and can we please stop off at the library, I want to see if I can’t find out where they live and maybe get their phone number. I just want to maybe call or stop by and see how he’s doing. From what Haryy’d told me last year, it sounds like their abusing him, Mum, please.” Hermione pleaded with her mum, not noticing the way she and her father made eye contact.

Her father turned her around to face him and gently wiped tears off her face, tears she hadn’t even known she was crying. “Hermione, dear. Of course we can stop by the library. However, we will not be stopping by their place today or even this week, they’re probably getting all the school shopping done this week as well. We can go by next week, provided that you’ve finished with your summer assignments and we find where they live.”

Hermione nodded and gave a watery smile to her parents, before a taxi pulled up and she hopped into the seat in the middle.

“Where to, sir an’ ma’ams?” Asked the cabby driver tipping his hat off his head to scratch his forehead with the bill of the cap.

Hermione leaned forward and chirped up, “The library please.”

“Righto, now hol’ on.”

It was at six o’ clock that the library closed and kicked the Grangers out, Hermione holding a sheaf of papers with the address and phone number where Harry lived, and the address and phone number for his uncle’s work. Hermione had also borrowed seven books from the library on how to identify and help people with abuse and PTSD, and a standard psychology text. Her parents were carrying the books for her, as just the psychology text weighed nearly as much as she did.

“Hermione, I know you didn’t find everything you were hoping to find, but it’s time to go home now.” 

“But mum-!”

“Don’t ‘but mum!’ your mother, sweetheart, it’s time to go home now. We can always come back to the library, and anyway, didn’t you promise to feed the neighbors cats this week? You need to feed them tonight still.”

Hermione sighed and nodded, “You’re right. Let’s go home.”  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad News: So I promised you that the last chapter would be the worst.  
> I might be mistaken, because from what I've written of the next, that one will be the worst of all.  
> I'm so sorry, I was not planning on that to happen, it just did.  
> Well... I blame not [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/invisbledragon), but that's where I'm at.


	5. Visting Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Harry has a Horrible Day  
> Alternate alternate title: Dudley doesn't know what to do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, do you want the good news or the bad news first? Or the sad news?  
> Also, it's a bit shorter than the normal chapter, that is because I promised to upload Tuesday, and it's Tuesday, and I can't think of anything more from Dudley's point of view and I can't justify a proper viewchange.
> 
> GOOD NEWS: New chapter!
> 
> BAD NEWS: Not for the squeamish or faint of heart. This chapter is worse than chapter 3, if you chose to skip chapter 3, you might want to skip this one as well.
> 
> SAD NEWS: This is the second to last chapter. I have decided to move on from this fandom for a short while. I may, however return and write an epilogue or a sequel, but at the moment it does not look likely.  
> If you want more tell me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/invisbledragon).

Harry moaned quietly in pain as his uncle left the shack and closed the door behind him. There was no part of his body that did not cause him pain, even his hair hurt. Or rather what was left of his hair. That was today’s treatment, a new haircut….. a bit of a close shave actually. In fact, his uncle had only ceased trimming his hair because he could not see where there was hair left, due to the copious amount of blood that covered the lank hair, plastering the remaining strands to his head.

The only other reason that his uncle had left him alone right now was because he and his wife needed to go into London and purchase Dudley a new school trunk, because Dudley had accidently broken his when he went to go carry it down the stairs for him to be ready to go leave for Smeltings when the day came.

Dudley had opted to stay behind and ‘watch over the freak’ which was the only reason that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia felt that Harry did not need to be shackled to the ground, and instead had shackled him to the wall, letting him lean back against the cool wood and attempt to regulate his breathing as to no aggravate the splintered wooden handle of the gardening hoe that was piercing his shoulder and collarbone area. Harry couldn’t even feel his arm anymore, let alone try and move his hand.

Harry panted harshly as he scrabbled in the dirt with his left hand, attempting to take the pressure off his limp right arm. He was wheezing when the door creaked open, and a shadowed figure stepped into the room. Before he could do more than wheeze in panic, Dudley emerged from the shadow and rushed to his side.

“Harry, oh Harry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Harry.” Dudley was in a right state, trying to help Harry sit up, but not knowing where to place his hands as to do so, without aggravating the injuries even more. Underneath the layer of dirt, blood, and sweat; lay painful injuries that were potentially lifelong debilitating injuries, should he ever be free; if not even outright life threatening.

Dudley steeled himself to the gruesome task, and set one hand on Harry’s good elbow, and the other on Harry’s back. He grimaced and gagged, when he felt his fingers sink into an oozy pit. He continued to gag, when Harry stiffened in pain when Dudley attempted to hoist Harry up to rest against the wall. Rather unfortunately, Harry’s elbow slipped out of Dudley’s grasp, and his fingers sank deeper into Harry, brushing against what decidedly felt like bone. In his disgust, Dudley shivered violently and dropped Harry. Before Dudley could stop the motion, the end of the wooden shaft bounced against the shed wall, vibrating against its’ flesh sheath at the same time that Harry impacted onto the ground. Dudley swore as Harry went limp, unconscious from the pain of being jarred.

This was not good. Dudley had his hands full of Harry. Harry was extremely injured, and quite possibly close to death. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow to call the police. Dudley rose to his feet, and ran as fast as he could into the house. His hands slick with Harry’s blood, and a sort of yellow ooze, left quite a smear on the handle of the back door and the telephone. In his haste, he left the door open, and so it was with luck that he heard the putter of the engine of a car rolling up the drive and easing to a stop.

The dial tone sounded in his ear, numb fingers grasping the telephone. He slammed it down into the cradle. No matter what, Dudley had to keep his mother and father away from Harry. He was relieved that he didn’t need to keep his Aunt away from Harry as well, since she had left two days earlier from her two week visit. Her and Ripper, that was. Dudley shuddered at the memory of Ripper trotting into the house, with red teeth and wet fur, eyes gleaming maliciously as he chewed on something in his mouth.

The sounds of curious murmuring echoed up the front path, as Dudley leapt into action. He scurried to the back door and shut it carefully, engaging the locking mechanism. His heart pounded in his chest from the panic, as he ran his hands under the water in the sink as the doorbell chimed. 

The doorbell rang again, pulling him out of his panic. It wasn’t his parents. The relief made his shoulders sag as he called out ‘One moment!’ and swiped his hands on a towel as he trotted toward the front door.

He opened it to find a girl around his age hugging a book to her chest, with what would probably be her parents standing behind her.

It took him a short while before he recognized that he did know her, and when he did, she bit her lip and asked, “Is Harry alright?”

“My parents are at the store buying me a replacement trunk, so we only have a short while. It’s the polite thing to invite you in but we don’t have enough time. I’m really sorry to say that Harry-” Dudley broke off and shook his head in terror. “My parents, they’re back early. You gotta go, you have to go now! Go, please! If my parents ask, you’re trying to get us to visit your church, please! Go now!”

Dudley closed the door, and ran back into the kitchen to place the dishtowel on the holding rack. He rubbed a smudge of something off the counter as he passed by on his way to the refrigerator to retrieve a snack to keep his parent from thinking something was off.

It was when the door clicked open that he pulled out of the refrigerator with an armful of sliced ham, sliced turkey, mayonnaise, mustard, and lettuce. As he dropped his stash on the counter, he called out to his parents, “Welcome back! I’m making a sandwich. Want one?” He reached into the breadbox and pulled out the half-finished loaf his mother had bought at the store the other day, and began to assemble a sandwich on his plate.

When a negative answer echoed back to him, he outwardly concentrated on building the layers of mayonnaise, and mustard as a base with a thick layer of lettuce, ham, and turkey slices intermingling. He placed the same on the other slice of bread, but instead of the ham and turkey, he reached over and pulled the bag of potato chips closer and shoved a handful onto the teetering pile that he dubbed his almost completed creation. All he needed to do was close the two sides of the sandwich.

As he carefully balanced his sandwich on his plate, as he made his way to the kitchen table, he couldn’t help but wonder what that girl was going to do. She seemed smart and determined, hopefully she would help Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm sorry I made you read that. I'm especially sorry if I made you vomit (honestly if you read the earlier bits, the word vomit should not have any effect on you.  
> Please don't hate me. I will post the next chapter (also the last chapter) in seven days. One week. Tuesday.


	6. Where's Harry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'Harry didn't show up on the train?'  
> Well then, where is he?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to Luna for listening to me rant about this story and pointing something very specific out to me.  
> Any way, yes. This is the last chapter. I hope you all enjoyed this story, I know I had fun writing it.  
> Stay tuned for new stuff, after all- I'm not done with writing. Not by a long shot.  
> Also, I'm sorry for this being a later update than usual, I had nothing written at my posting time and worked hard on getting this out to you guys still today.  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/invisbledragon), but don't hate me.

Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars.

  
Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Hermione watched as a long line of scared-looking first years filing into the Hall. Ginny was among them, easily visible because of her vivid Weasley hair. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers.

Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed, and dirty, sorted new students into the four Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin). Hermione well remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in her ear. For a few horrible seconds she had feared that the hat was going to put her in Ravenclaw, home of the bookish and quiet; but she had ended up in Gryffindor, along with Ron, Harry, and the rest of the Weasleys. Last term, Harry and Ron had helped Gryffindor win the House Championship, beating Slytherin for the first time in seven years.  
 

A very small, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Hermione's eyes wandered past him to where Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, sat watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. She needed to speak with him about Harry. A distant roar echoed through the hall as another cheer went up from the house that gained a new member.

She fixed her gaze on her goblet, determined not to let the tears prickling in her eyes fall. Not a single one would fall. But she was oh-so worried about Harry. He hadn’t been on the train, and his cousin at his home had been oh-so worried. And what if she had made the wrong decision about not saying anything to the police. What if there was something wrong with Harry. She couldn’t wait any longer. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the note that she had written the night before while packing up her trunk.  
Hermione placed it on the table, and bent over it concentrating. With a swish of her wand, she banished it to the Head Table. Her head popped up and looked toward Professor Dumbledore. Hopefully he would read the note and do something.

  
To her disappointment, the note did not materialize in front of Professor Dumbledore, and as she searched down the Head Table, her heart sank as she saw Professor Snape unfolded the triangularly folded piece of parchment.

She watched as his face creased, and he pulled his wand out of his sleeve. A small wrinkling of his lips as he tapped his wand to the parchment was all that happened, until he flicked his wand and the paper fell into her lap.

Hermione’s shocked gaze met his, and as he nodded at her, she lifted the parchment with trembling hands. _After dinner._

  
All throughout the Opening Feast, Hermione trembled as though she sat on a live wire. When Professor Dumbledore finally finished with his announcements, and said goodnight to all of the students; Hermione pushed off from the table and sprinted into the Entrance Hall.

  
"Follow me," said Snape.

Not daring even to look at each other, Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George; who had quickly followed behind Hermione, followed Snape up two flights of stairs and around a few corners before stopping in front of a griffin statue.

Professor Snape sighed and in his most droll voice intoned, “Lemon Drop.”

Fred and George couldn’t help but snicker at Professor Snape saying Lemon Drop in the most ridiculous manner, however they quickly quieted when he turned his icy gaze onto them.

"In!" he said, pointing at the stairs that were revealed as the griffin began to rotate.

They entered Professor Dumbledore's office, shivering with nerves. The bright office was softly glowing in the light of the candles. The fireplace flamed green, and out stepped Professor McGonagall, followed closely by Professor Dumbledore. Snape closed the door and turned to look at them.

"So," he said softly, "The train isn't good enough for the famous Harry Potter. Wanted to arrive with a bang, did he? Make a grand show, turning up after the Feast?”

"No, sir, it isn’t that. Harry wasn’t on the train, and when I went to his house his cousin-“ Hermione began to try to explain why Harry hadn’t shown up.

"Silence!" said Snape coldly. "Why would you want to go to his house?" Ron gulped. It was time for him and Fred and George to tell their part in this story.

“So, you see, Harry had promised to write Ron during summer.” Began Fred.

“And while we don’t know Harry as well as Ron does, we did share the Quidditch locker room with him all last year.” George continued.

“And we- the two of us- noticed that Harry was a bit shy when it came to changing into and out of his Quidditch uniform.”

“So, we promised to shield him from the rest of the team if he showed up why he was so shy.”

“So when he showed us…”

“We swore we would try to protect him from harm.”

“We failed. We couldn’t protect him from his family.” Fred began to cry, his voice cracking.

“His family, they did that to him. And now, he didn’t show up for school, and we are worried about him.” George’s voice cracked toward the end and he drew his twin closer to him and began to hug him close.

Ron took a deep breath, “So when he hadn’t been writing back to me at all during summer, I convinced Fred and George to steal our dad’s car to go rescue him, and when we found him…”

Professor McGonagall gasped and looked as though she might faint. Hermione gently took her elbow and guided her to a chair near the fireplace. Professor Dumbledore sank into his chair, and steepled his fingertips, while Professor Snape summoned two Calming Drafts and handed one to Professor McGonagall and the other to Ron. Ron quickly drank it down before continuing with his story.

“His bedroom window was locked up tight with these metal bars, and none of the others of the house had them. His bedroom door was locked with seven padlocks, on the outside of the room, and there was a catflap installed in the bottom of the door. Hedwig had a padlock on her cage and looked pretty thin and scruffy, as though she had been locked up since summer began. Harry himself was pretty thin and not looking his best, he had one heck of a black eye when we arrived. His belongings were stuffed into a small cupboard under the stairs-“

Fred interrupted, “When we went to get his stuff out of the cupboard, using a muggle technique, we found that not only was there his trunk and all his books and his wand. But there was also a small ratty mattress and blanket stuffed into the cupboard as well.”

George continued, “It looked like someone had been using it as a bedroom for a good while.”

Ron finished his explanation with, “Well, he almost forgot Hedwig, and she screeched at him to remind him not to forget her, and that woke his family up and his uncle caught Harry by the ankle and they managed to pull him back into the house and he told us to leave him and take Hedwig with and he’s been there ever since.”

The teachers were all staring in shock, even Professor Snape, so Hermione felt like throwing the final bit of their explanation. “I visited his house a few days before the end of summer vacation, and his cousin opened the door and he looked flustered. He was about to tell us of what happened to Harry, when he told us to leave and pretend we were people visiting trying to convince him to visit our church, because his parents where home. He sounded so worried, as though it would be even worse for Harry if we didn’t do as he said. So we had to leave and we pretended to be visiting from a church, and his family, they’re awful people, and I’m so worried for Harry. What if his awful uncle and aunt did something horrible to him?”

Professor Dumbledore had never looked older than he did in this moment. Professor McGonagall turned on him and went off on him, “YOU SAID THAT HE WOULD BE SAFE WITH THEM! ALBUS, YOU SWORE THAT PETUNIA WOULD MAKE SURE HE HAD A LOVING HOME!”

Professor Snape snapped out of his shock and joined Professor McGonagall in tearing strips off of Professor Dumbledore’s hide. “Petunia? You can’t possibly mean Petunia Evens, Lily’s sister? SHE HATED MAGIC. SHE SWORE THAT WHEN LILY GRADUATED SCHOOL THAT SHE WOULD NEVER SPEAK TO OR SEE HER SISTER OF FAMILY EVER AGAIN!”  
Professor Dumbledore raised a shaking wand and spelled something that made the office flash pink and purple. “I lowered the wards around my office. Minerva, please take Severus and go to Harry, please.”

It was tense in the office when they Apperated out, leaving behind a shaken Professor Dumbledore and crying twins. Hermione herself began to hug Ron, and cry into his shoulder.

  
Ten minutes later, Professor Snape returned with Professor McGonagall, who immediately sank to the floor and began sobbing.

Professor Dumbledore stood up and frantically asked, “What, what is it? Is Harry alright?”

Professor McGonagall keened at Harry’s name, and Hermione began to cry anew. She knew something had happened to Harry.

Professor Snape stood stoically and managed one sentence before collapsing himself.

“Harry Potter is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna, as the kind person she is, has reminded me about Horcruxes and that I can't possibly end the story here.  
> So GOOD NEWS EVERYBODY, there will be a sequel.  
> Just not right away, as I want to write a different fandom first.Wh

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on a real Harry Potter kick lately, and I noticed that the idea I have is not a work already, so here it is!


End file.
